"I am called Zilient Niverath," the figure bows with a curious dignity as their rusty mane of hair blocks their face, "though you may name me as you wish." They bring their yellow green eyes upward, locking gazes with the invisible. There's nobody standing there. At least, no one that you can see; anyone else present seems to exist only in the young adult's mind. What a strange - boy? Girl. No... for all of their oddities and the obscuring black overcoat they wear, you really can't tell what they are.

You decide to stay where you are, watching from behind one of the temple's stone pillars. The smoothly pitched voice speaks again.

"My apologies, but I have little choice; I must leave immediately. Widespread knowledge of my - 'existence' would be the end of us all if I were to remain in your world." They wait briefly, you assume for the being they imagine to give them some word of direction.

Knowledge of their existence? They say it like they don't quite know what the word means.

"...I only came here now because I need to return this - " the stranger brings their pale fingers around the wooden hilt of a bayonet lain upon the altar, " to my world - thank you. It does not belong; no more than I do."

Wait. Was that there before?

"After the disruption my arrival brought I can no longer answer any call here. This farewell will be my last." They nod respectfully and turn toward the entrance.

How can they talk so seriously to someone imaginary? Do they even realise you've already seen them? Really -

You feel that cold chill of being watched, though no one is looking at you. The footsteps' echoes have stopped.

"Yes, I do. Another reason why I must go. Though, I wonder - why is it you think me to be such a fool?" Their question and gaze both fall upon you like a silent wind. You want to ask them how they knew, say something sharper, but...

"You weren't talking to anyone," you manage. They tilt their head and contemplate your answer curiously.

But...

"If I wholly believe in what I can see and create, who is to say it isn't real for me? You believe that I am here, no? And so I am. Aren't I? ...What if you stopped believing?"

But something about them doesn't seem right anymore...

"Who are you, to know what is real?"

And then they are gone.

All that remains is you, staring transfixed, at someone who isn't there.

SOMETHING REMENISCENT OF A BIO:

Whoa, I wasn't expecting the paragraph above to turn out that weird. It's beginning to give me the creeps now.

Anywhat, I haven't any stories yet to speak of; it turns out that the post-near future is one giant heck of a lot farther away than initially predicted. I blame my best bud. He's just so... blameable. You know? Oh, yeah, this is a bio... (insert embarrassingly crooked grin here!) If you really want my personal information that badly I suppose you can call me Zilient or Niverath. Neither of those are my real names, but they sound cool anyway. I'm twenty, Canadian, don't brush my hair, and do indeed wear a black overcoat. It's good for winter more than badassery. So picture me as a sort of five-foot-five suspiciously androgynous-looking, offshoot Matrix character with a lovely mane of hair and a mocking smile that won't stay on straight. Eh. And you're allowed to know I'm a Zelda fan. That much is blitheringly obvious. Check out my favourites list if you're one too, I doubt my buddy and I are going to get our writing asses in gear any time this century. Best of random luck - the only kind that's ever any good!

"Don't swim too deep, or you'll drown; don't dream too far or you'll never wake up."
- Forevermore I am Niverath